The Amnesiac's Conquest
by Mad Prince Marth
Summary: In the strange world of Smash Mansion, newcomers are a rarity, but what sort of secrets do this newest flood of recruits bring? (Awful summary is awful. You are dared to defy your instincts and trust that the story is not so poorly written.)


Though he could not have explained why, the flood of newcomers unsettled rather than excited him. It happened much like the last time; they appeared all at once, strange faces from strange lands, some trembling behind a facade of temerity while others met old friends with relieved chatter. He spotted the girl long before she did him, unable to help the mixture of curiosity and unease that assaulted him at the sight of her. It was not that she was frightening- on the contrary, she bore a rather stunning complexion- but that her soft yet determined features were so close a reflection of his own. Even the royal hue of her hair was familiar, a colour he had never found outside of his bloodline. She might have been his sister, were it not his first time laying eyes upon her.

In the midst of the chaos, it took awhile for the girl to take notice of him. The figure who stood beside her caught his gaze first and he thought he saw a flicker of recognition pass over the stranger's face. Before he had a chance to register it, the figure had seemingly ensnared him, directing the girl's attention and urging her to follow his lead as he approached.

"You must be the Hero King Marth. I can't tell you what a pleasure it is to meet you," the unfamiliar man greeted with a faint dip of his head. His tone was even, suggesting none of the enthusiasm he claimed. His hair was a purer white than the freshest snow, yet Marth could not suppress a shiver of fear when he spoke; his steady voice held an undertone to match the almost inhuman intelligence burning like dark flame in his eyes.

"The Hero King?" murmured his companion, raising her chin to fix him in her awed stare. "Forgive me, but... you look so young. I did not expect-"

"I am no hero," Marth interrupted, hoping that he would not come off as rude. "Not here. Nor am I the king you think me to be. I am... a prince. No more." The two frowned, and he felt a new jolt of anxiety. What had he failed to deliver? Surely they did not believe that he was some mighty ruler, when he had barely managed to assert himself as a man?

"Perhaps your future has not yet secured itself," offered the alabaster scholar, with a knowing smile. "I think that you must have a great path still to tread, Prince Marth. And, if you don't mind me saying, your legacy is a great one."

Alarmed, Marth took a half step back. A crawling feeling ran down his spine and he yearned to be anywhere else but there. "You- you needn't explain yourself further," he said, growing sharp in his anxiety. "I am not familiar with you or your companion, but I can see that you are wiser than I." Unspoken was the plea to be gone, to remove that haunting gaze and return to the hell he had no doubt risen from. The stranger, seeming to detect Marth's trepidation, presented what might have been intended as a comforting smile.

"I apologize if we have been too forward," he replied, and laughed. It was a warm, friendly sound, so unlike his shadowy aura. "We have yet to introduce ourselves. My name is Robin." Gesturing to the girl who so closely resembled Marth himself, he added, "This is Lucina. She is the daughter of a close friend of mine- your descendant, many years in the future."

The prince studied Lucina, who met his scrutiny with both pride and nervousness. If the scholar's claim was truthful, then the uncanny resemblance was more than explained. He could not help but wonder whether the blade she hugged close to her hip was the same one that lay waiting where he had left it, alien as the rounded hilt and needle-like blade appeared to him. Noticing his attention lingering on the weapon, Lucina shied, wrapping a protective hand around the sheath.

"This was my father's sword," she declared without apology. "I'm sorry, but it's my duty to guard it with my life."

Marth chuckled in spite of himself. "I would never ask you to part with it. Tell me, though: it is Falchion, isn't it?"

She nodded. "The Ylissean royal family has possessed it for as long as our history stretches. I have no doubt that it was in your hands long before it reached ours."

"Indeed, it was," confirmed Marth, though he had no concept of the time it had taken for the sacred blade to reach its current state, or for his bloodline to merge with hers. He knew even less of the dragon-eyed man who guarded her- there was a danger about him, that was indisputable, but what role did he play in the future of Marth's beloved world? Like Ike, a mercenary and friend who also hailed from an era beyond Marth's, he was not of noble descent, but the prince knew that he would not be standing before him if he were not important.

"We should introduce ourselves to the others," Robin said, breaking the uneasy silence. "It was an honor to speak with you. I trust we'll meet again in the arena."

Then he was gone, taking Marth's young kin with him. Marth stood and tried to swallow the pressure building in his throat, massaging his temples with trembling fingers. Of all the warriors he had met in this strange, timeless world, these two were the first to truly shake him. Perhaps, he thought, it was just that he had not met someone from his own world since Ike's arrival. Or perhaps it was something he saw in Robin, something that felt strange and yet far too familiar. Personal misgivings aside, the intellectual's words had augured something that Marth could not read. It was not a threat- Marth could not bring himself to believe that- but an omen, like the cries of frantic birds before a storm. Robin's voice told of green skies, of darkened clouds looming and destruction still to come.

But then, it could have been nothing.


End file.
